


Evenstar: A tale of Aragorn and Sauron of Middle-Earth

by shadowsplay



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BDSM, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsplay/pseuds/shadowsplay
Summary: EXPLICIT, NON-CANON WORK, including consensual and non-consensual BDSMAragorn speaks of SauronBut where, in this eternal one of the Maia—who had servedMorgoth—was the destructive power, the commanding evil of the imagined Sauron I had made of him in my mind, trying to draw him out of the books, out of the air?I have always known that we would meet, that we must meet, and engage in some way. This was my destiny. But I never imagined that he would be anything except utterly repellant to me.I wanted him.I desired him as a jewel of manhood I would wear upon my body in passion... As the jewel of a king upon my brow, the answered crown, the moisture from his kiss there to mark me as his.More than an embrace makes his dark knowledge my own. I mustknowhim with my body, and with my soul. I am made to dance with peril, with darkness embodied, with the stinging balm of uncontained opposition, the desolation of directed unrestraint. Without this I will never be a king.He stood there still. The path to him lay between us, and he did not move, or reach."Aragorn, King of Gondor. Serve me," was all he said.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Original Female Character(s), Aragorn | Estel/Sauron | Mairon, Sauron | Mairon/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. One

  
Rivendell, hidden enclave of the Elves

#### WELCOME DEAR READERS: This is an explicit, non-canon work in progress, with non-canonical characters and relationships. _Sensitive people, and fiercely canon lovers of Tolkien, turn away now._

#### The story is dark. It includes non-consensual BDSM, torture, and minor character death. It also includes explicit and highly erotic sex—including real and consensual BDSM—as a part of romantic love, intimacy, and relationship building.

#### DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

  * #### Aragorn (Estel)

  * #### Sauron (Mairon)

  * #### Ellith (original female character)




#### CHRONOLOGY: Aragorn - Age 21 to 25

> **This story takes place in the four years of Aragorn's life from age 21 to 25.**
> 
> Aragorn lives in the Third Age of Middle-Earth. He is descended from the Kings of Gondor, though his identity is kept secret. In Tolkien's chronology, Aragorn leaves his home in the Elven enclave of Rivendell at age 21, and goes "into the wild." He returns from unspecified travels four years later. These four years are the time period of this story.
> 
> NOTE: At the end of these four years, Aragorn meets Gandalf, and agrees in his role as a Ranger to watch over The Shire.   
>  NOTE: This story omits the meeting of Arwen at the age of 21.

#### CHRONOLOGY: Sauron

> **In this story, which takes place in the Third Age of Middle-Earth, Sauron remains in possession of a beautiful, immortal body he formed for himself when he escaped the capture of his evil captain, Morgoth.**
> 
> In the First Age of Middle-Earth, Sauron is one of the first created beings, Mairon of the Maiar, immortal spirits that can take any shape that they wish. He is seduced by the evil of another Maia, Melkor, who becomes known as Morgoth. Sauron escapes when Morgoth is thrown into the void. In Tolkien's timeline, Sauron then takes multiple forms that are ultimately destroyed by the forces of good. 
> 
> **In this story, Sauron's body has not been destroyed. Sauron retains the beautiful and immortal body he created for himself as an immortal Maia. He also retains the Maiar ability to change his shape at will.**

#### CHARACTER: Ellith

> **Ellith is an non-canon, original female character I created for this story. Like Sauron, she is of the Maiar of the First Age of Middle-Earth, and is immortal.**

## CHAPTER ONE

I am Ellith. I am older than men, older even than the elves.

My land is the frozen North. In glass houses of jungles and gardens, with a sun affixed over each great room, there trickles the snow into rain and mist in each. The soil melted below is a humus measured rich with the frozen bounty of another age of warmth, and is made of all that is needed to sustain the growth of my sustenance and leisure.

I burn the dung of another age in my stove as coal.

And so am I rich. I labor little. I plant and I harvest. I spin and I read.... and I write.

When I was born the North was a garden; my mother an immortal of the Maia, my father a stag. I had no childhood as such. I sprang fully formed from the brow of my mother. A stag turned away from us, and was gone.

There was much to learn. I began with what was most arcane, for my mother warned me against the darkness, and I knew I must decide for myself.

Evil was easy to find. Though Morgoth was cast down, his vassal and liegeman yet roamed the earth, and I followed his movements by the cards and in the stones.

I watched him. I watched no other. Did this mean that I was evil, or that I was to overcome evil? I feared evil for it could change me into something from which I might not return. But I needed it. I craved the sterile embrace of darkness, the hissing cold of the vast world under my bed, awakened each night by the wind which was was braced against my castle of glass and stone, and shook all of the world beyond.

When I reached a certain age, I travelled far in search of deeper knowledge. I forgot the North for a time. I met those who knew of evil, some of whom had been turned by it. 

There was suffering. I saw it. I took no pleasure in it. But I needed to know what caused this evil.

I travelled as a man. Tall in stature, I kept to myself and none questioned me. I found in the greater cities the dusty collections of books, and in the wilder places the singular lives of the wise ones from which to gain the knowledge I sought, and the further knowledge I would come to discover.

Each tale I learned was very short, or very long. Every tale of a greater length led back to him. No different in my own life, for he called to me at last, and I went to the source for a time. But I had first met another that I was to love, first as a boy, then as a man.

This is our story, my story. For me there is no other. 

I have written this story in my mind. It is engraved upon my heart. There can be only one story, though there are two paths, always.

* * *

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[ ](https://statcounter.com/)


	2. Two

"Your best ale," the man said, laying his coin on the counter. He was a tall man, thin, with a boyish, dusty face and a shoulder length, matted tangle of golden hair that just touched the lapels of his dusty great coat. His boots were made for riding, and his coat cut to straddle a horse. Intelligence shown from his eyes of a startlingly deep green.

The man turned sideways to the bar, leaning against it as he pulled long from the draft, licking his lips as he took in the occupants of the pub. His eyes had become accustomed to the low light of the smoky room, and he was openly curious as he casually scanned the room as though for the first time, judging the inhabitants from long habit, assessing the currents of various lands that met here in the form of travelers, and those who took their coin. It was not so difficult to recognize the blacksmith, the grocer, the stable hand, and then the bar keep's daughter, who ferried food from the unseen kitchen trailing the warmth and smells of it after her, swirling about her as she pushed her way past folks known and travelers unknown to a table near the back of the pub.

The hands of a man rested on the table around the spot where she placed his food and drink, though his body and face remained half-hidden in shadow.

I knew he had taken notice of me as I turned back to the bar—glancing at my reflection in the long mirror behind many bottles of myriad forms of poison—for I am that man, though I am a woman.

I let myself feel a little pride in my work. He was a master tracker, yet he had not detected me until I wanted it so, and this after I had tracked him for several days, a dogged path made of dearly purchased information that led to this night and this place. And here was this fugitive who lived in the shadows, who was ever vigilant against those who might make evil from knowledge of his whereabouts. 

I thought again of the best way to approach him. Did he remember or guess who I was? How quickly would he guess my feelings for him, more than an ally or a friend? It was many years in his time since we had made words together, when he was a child. I knew this, that he would disappear if we parted, returning to his secret life. It would be unlikely that I would find him again, not without the costly help of the one who knew of my need of him.

My ale was mostly gone when I turned and glanced once more in his direction. He had finished his food, and had washed it down with half of his ale, now foamless in the glass mug which he pushed away with the remnants of his leisurely meal. He glanced about casually before pulling out his pipe, tamping some tobacco into it with care, looking at me briefly as he lit the pipe, then settled back in a moment of earnest relaxation.

Now was the time for purpose and conversation. Why did I wait?

I took pleasure in his pleasure as I openly watched him for another long moment of imagining, picturing that which was born in him and life-long, the secret desires that he must harbor to have danced with the source of the darkest of secret pleasures. He had taken up his ale again, and his face had relaxed so that his eyelids drooped so very slightly. I imagined his face changing as those so very secret places were awakened in him, by me. 

**[Scene in bold added 2 Feb ]**

**_Suddenly_... I was flying away from this little world, sailing upon these thoughts that took me straight to _him_ , remembering my own dark pleasures with the one we both loved. My mouth still stung where I had broken my lip against the wall. I looked at my wrists, with the fading marks still visible from being bound, and I remembered again his soft lips on these places after freeing me, and so lovingly upon them when he bound me again.**

**I was bound for hours, for days, and I spent them waiting for him, needing him—then needing to get away when he came to toy with me, to orchestrate more of my pleasure as pain. I had cried out with each bite of the whip on my back, then lower, lower still, finding the backs of my thighs and calves. He delighted in the wrenching of my body from the searing pain of his whip on my hands so tightly bound. He brought me to the point of orgasm, then stopped, rubbing his body against mine so gently, and long moments of only his body subtle against mine, moving as though he made tender love against me, communicating to me his arousal and hardness. I had moaned and gasped from my long denied need, thrilled by his voice low and sensuous at my ear, licking it suddenly, like a dog. He laughed to himself, a sweet sound of private delight, so different from the cruel laughs he then enjoyed at my expense, pleased by the overflowing desire he had wrought in me with long and delicious feelings of denied release.**

**I most often waited, thinking of him while he forgot me. Where did he sleep in this home he had built as a tower, a castle, a fortress? Back and forth, he passed by the room that was my prison, focusing on other things. He carried books and papers. Drawings and plans. Letters. Who wrote to Sauron? Who received letters from him? I had laughed, picturing him opening a letter from Morgoth—his seducer as the source of all evil—sent from his exile in the void. _Dear Sauron_... A letter! I laughed, and then I wept. ** **"Sauron..." I whispered. _"Sauron..."_**

**I waited, almost hearing his voice, hungering for his touch; hoping, then despairing, then hoping again when I heard a noise in the hall that of course was nothing but a mouse.**

**_Mice live here. What do they eat? How do they breathe?_ The stagnant air still stung my throat, heavy in my lungs. I felt half-mad and called out, "...hail to the mouse, who shares the house of Sauron..." I made little squeaks then, imagining him smiling at my various sounds of humor soaked anguish.**

**And I remembered. My hunger when he circled me in silence, listening to my breaths, more eloquent than words about the inner feelings they betrayed in me. He whispered lewd promises to me as he untied me, taking me to his bed at last, curling his body around mine. The sounds of our passion were hurled as long echoes, then our whispers lived on, each one a _shush_ that raced away from us on a slivered current of air, flowing away and down through the endless halls of dark and perfect silence, broken again by the sounds of more furtive pleasures, of promises and lies. **

**"He loves me... as you love him," he whispered. We were entwined in the silence for hours before he spoke the rest: "...As you love me."**

**I replied some time later. "Can you love?"**

**He loved this question, but made no answer.**

**I asked then,** _**"Do you remember love...?"** _

It was only a moment, but I had been a world away from this little world of happiness and laughter, my emotions jumbled by the contrast. I smiled as I appeared to join in my neighbors' frivolity, as I tucked away the memories and feelings of the one who had known the very one they most feared.

Feeling my purpose anew, I found a certain confidence as I pushed my cloak back over my shoulders and swept forth my hair, a thick and wavy cascade of the bright yellow of a maiden, though my skin was that of a ginger, palest white with only an occasional freckle to testify of my knowledge of the sun.

His eyes moved slowly, his head not at all. His eyes met mine, and the corners of his mouth communicated a subtle smile that went with an almost imperceptible nod of his head. Then his eyes were elsewhere, his face and body with the attitude of one who was still enjoying an uninterrupted solitude.

I nodded to the barkeep as I turned and made my way to the back corner, avoiding the crowded center of the room, where the noisy inhabitants were considerably more relaxed than when I had arrived, and more prone to careless movements against any who foolishly sought to pass, leaning against each other as they wobbled back and forth at their tables.

He looked up as I reached his table, subtly pointing towards the seat opposite with the stem of his pipe. The barkeep was right behind me with a fresh ale, accepting my generous coin on the heavy little tray he folded under his arm as he bowed, pocketing the money as he moved back towards the bar, one eye never having left his haven behind the counter.

We both smiled, the smile of equals, the smile of those that seldom met their equal. This beginning of familiarity was accompanied by a certain settling into our comfort across from each other, a seemingly languid anticipation of the beginning of conversation between one who knew something delicious enough to track the other, and the one who would now benefit from the means and purpose of this information, all in good time.

And so it began.

* * *

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	3. Three

His eyes. His face seemed to suddenly fill my vision, his eyes like swirling pools of subtle gray that I somehow fell into without moving.

I offered my gaze without flinching as he took full measure of my intelligence, my honesty, and honorable intent. He had taken a slightly deeper breath, relaxing into its silent release, preparing himself for careful moments of listening. I would come to admire and depend on his focus as a listener, for it would prove essential to my purpose and comfort.

My voice was quiet, none but a murmur to those outside of our little corner of the pub. "I am Ellith, and I have found you at last, Aragorn son of Arathorn." He nodded his head slightly in accordance, his face again registering admiration for my discernment of his identity, then glancing once around the room to see if anyone else had taken an interest in our gentle parlay.

I paused for just a moment. I had not come to demonstrate that I knew who he was. I knew so much more. But I did not know everything.

"I know where you have lingered long, to whom you have presented yourself. I know that you love him, that you have _known_ him." I felt in the word 'known' my own feeling of emphasis.

" _Know_..." he interjected after a moment of sincere surprise. His eyes and expression were unapologetic, a little defiant, that of keenly anticipating my answer. 

"And yet, I find you here, and not there." I challenged his defiance with a little of my own. He answered immediately, willingly deepening our conversation to the heart of what I alluded to.

"I know that all will condemn me. But give me _your_ reasons for denying me this... my forbidden love." I knew why he hid his love of one so evil, but I was instructed as to its emotional depth by his tender emphasis on the word 'love.' The defiance had softened into a very slight bitterness, as he looked down at his hands loosely entwined on the table between us. 

"You do love him..." I whispered, also looking at his hands, noticing the little twinge in my heart as I watched his thumbs moving together in a gentle caress. _He accepts and gives more than physical love,_ I thought, as I lovingly traced the details of his hands with my eyes, hands that somehow, finally, were entwined loosely between us. 

I looked up, finding in his returned gaze the understanding of me, that I _knew_ him, one who had been gentled, and accepted the weight of that other, _and wanted him still_. His expression was one of reassessment, an inventory of when we might have met before. I knew he was picturing Rivendell, all the places there that he knew so well. Would he somehow find me there?

I remembered him in those places, and I felt my love for him like a wound made of years in my heart, a knot that he might test if he thought now to search for it, moving like a surgeon to reach tentatively, then gently inserting his hand into my open heart.

I closed my eyes, feeling him there. Did he clasp my heart with his hand? Did he take hold of my feelings for him, as though to possess me with this solid handhold of desire?

My eyes remained closed as I felt his touch at my cheek, his hand lingering there until I opened my eyes. He smiled at my new shyness, at my small difficulty in keeping still when I wanted so much to turn away, to hide my so vulnerable feelings.

"Ellith. How do you know me?" He pried so softly with his words, with the gentle emphasis of his hand at my cheek before he withdrew it.

I was silent, and he waited. I opened my eyes, now openly filled with my love for him.

"I was there, at Rivendell, when I was an old one, and you were but a boy."

His eyes registered surprise and delight. 

"You are _much_ older than me..." he understood, "...of the Maiar." I saw a change in his eyes that went with this understanding. "A child... you knew me when I was a child." I could see that he was scanning again the moments of his youth for some hint of who I was among those who had ever lived in Rivendell, we who were of the eternal races who did not die, and yet one of those who did not bear the features of Elven descent.

"Aragorn..." My voice had become that of a closely held secret. "I know you. I knew and watched you, then waited for you to become a man." I felt an inner release as I confessed in so few words those many years of my desire for one so close, and far away across the separation of years.

"You knew then who I am." He was looking at my face, trying to remember.

I leaned forward slightly, untying my cloak, then letting it fall off my shoulders and down my back onto the bench behind me. I arranged my hair, loosening it from the tightness made by the constant weight of my hood against the mist and cold. Then I arranged my tunic somewhat, shifting it and smoothing it downward. I felt myself becoming a woman to him, wanting him to find and know this in me.

"Ellith..." he said softly. "Were you known then... as now?"

"Yes."

"And you waited for me. Until I was older in the years of a man." He was clearly moved by my devotion, and tilted his head slightly as he tried to remember, as he questioned my motives, as he drew several times upon the pipe, the smoke curling up from him in hypnotic swirls of languid release.

I was silent. It was obvious in my eyes, the length and depth of my long years of loving him.

"Ellith. I am sorry, but I do not remember you."

"I made it so. I watched from afar. Then travelled anywhere but there. I loved you from the first time I saw you..." I was careful to reassure him of my noble intentions. "And to one of my years, it was to me a short time until you would reach manhood. I saw that man in you, even when you were so young. And I waited. I wanted you to know me as a woman, not an elder."

The last words were a deeper confession, and I let the silence start again between us before I continued. 

_"And then I lost you."_

"When I went away."

"Yes."

"Of these three months, how many have you sought me?"

"Less than one."

"You waited for two?"

"I thought you would return. Tell me, who cannot return to that happy place?" I saw the unhappiness in his gaze, then the warmth of love for a place that was always held so close, and now was so far.

"Tell me Ellith, do you have news of my mother?" 

"She is well. All are well. Elrond freely speaks of you on occasion. You are missed every day."

"I do miss it so..." his eyes were far away for a moment as he touched the places in himself that he had _become_ when he was cradled by that most beautiful of places. 

I felt my spirit dropping as his face fell, and seemed subtly ashen then, and I knew he had found _this_ waiting for him in the present, the truth about his predicament, caught between two worlds that could never overlap.

"I have lost my place there, at fair _Imladris,_ " he said in the Elven tongue, his words so gentle, whisper soft, almost a query. I knew he turned the puzzle over, and over in his mind.

"I left my home... And have not returned."

"I know this, and I know why. But I know not why... you do not return."

"I paid... a price," he said, as though to the world, to no one in the whole expanse of the world that was not home. The truth of his existence in four little words.

I waited, but he did not say more. I wanted him to tell me everything.

"You do not return, to home... or to him," I prompted him again, needing to understand.

"No." He shook his head slightly. Then he placed his empty pipe upon the table, and wept. I was transfixed as tears fell quickly down his face and onto his lightly curled hands, palms up. I thought of him picturing a lover there, wondering how his hands were now empty.

I leaned forward, my voice quieter, my tone the rounded fullness of breathless anticipation. "Tell me," I heard it in my voice, the need that I brought to this moment; to him our first meeting, to me our reunion at last.

He brought his hands to his face, pushing the tears aside with one movement of his hands, then placed them again on the table as he sat silently as one apart. What did he now see inside? _I waited._ Finally he seemed to resign himself, and set about replenishing his pipe, taking comfort in a simple act of pleasure and repetition, in a task that allowed him to look away from me for some time.

"I _want_ to tell you," he said, moving slightly. He seemed to gather himself, preparing for something that could be done at last, shifting his body to find a new balance and comfort.

"Somehow, Ellith. Somehow I feel that you must know what no one else knows, my story. I will tell you where my heart has led me, and perhaps I will give you more than my company. Perhaps I will give you the knowledge of my heart, and the measure of my honor."

We smiled, joining each other in a happy alliance of found affection, and trust.

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	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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"You seem to know something of my travels, Ellith. Much more than those who await my return."

His comment was rhetorical, and I made no answer.

"I set out, alone at last, finding my way. Those that I love must think of me often... They know only that I have gone away, as all heroes must do." He smiled gently at the word "hero," though his steely gaze communicated an unwavering seriousness. "I have gone into a wilderness as they say, to return at last with something _other—_ the precious boon that will fit _just so_ into the very heart of this, our age... the age of our world." 

Again he paused. He held my gaze firmly, searching for any but sincere intent. I knew then that he had decided to tell me everything, and relaxed into my joy. He turned his head slightly, and his gaze was traveling away, well beyond a little town, over the forests and mountains, up and outward across the great vista of Middle-Earth, opening before him, all that he knew so well. He had closed his eyes then, and I studied his face, waiting. His eyes opened, and he was here, and began again.

"For all of the years that I remember, I have known that my life must somehow be intertwined with _His_ , that One who is seldom spoken of, and less often named. When I knew his name, I sought him first in books, in the histories of the Elves and those of men, and of all those from before the Elves: all that has been recorded of Melkor, who became the Dark Lord Morgoth, and of his former servant and disciple, who became his lieutenant, and was called Mairon. For after him did Mairon become the second Dark Lord, who is called Sauron."

I thrilled at his mention of the Dark Lord's name. He lingered so slightly on the name _Sauron_ , and I heard in his voice hidden feelings that I longed so much to know in him. I heard in my own heart the words that went with my own longing. _I want only this,_ _that you will not stop talking, that you will say what you will of the one we both love._ But he did not say more of him, and I waited.

He relaxed without speaking, communicating no need to hurry his thoughts or words. I relaxed into the waiting, feeling a closeness in the silence.

"You know of my youth, Ellith..." he began.

I noticed the little pang of disappointment, that he did not say more of that One, though I did also hope to learn about his life, of the years I was not there with him.

"I do not remember my father, felled in the valor of battle when I was very young. I came with my mother to Rivendell as the ward of Elrond, and only recently have I learned of my lineage and my place in it. I was known as Estel by all but that one, who with my mother knew me in secret as Aragorn son of Arathorn. I have come to understand that they sheltered me, hiding my identity and my lineage, careful to hide me from the forces of evil."

_And then you went straight to him, the source of all evil. You gave, and you received._

"I became a young man, and my companions were the sons of Elrond, brothers to me in learning, and then in our travels together. They taught me much about the lands of Middle-Earth... and shared with me the skills of Elves for moving about with little notice, for I desired the skills of travelling alone, as a free man who went where he would, known only as a stranger to those I encountered."

He was happy from these happy memories as he glanced casually around the room again, glad for his anonymity, enjoying a moment of this success in the company of one who knew of his true identity. There were those who knew of him, but only then as a Ranger, a class of rough travelers who were regarded with a uncertain mix of both acknowledgement and suspicion. Not least because they were solitary, or kept only the company of elves, and seemed to know more than those around them, concerned with matters that others could not guess at. He moved through their small worlds, happy to guard them as he could without their knowledge or gratitude.

I thought back to that day when I had first encountered a young boy, and guessed who he was. I remembered the years after, living apart as the boy became a young man, not knowing that upon my return I was to join those who waited for him. There were two months in the thrall of the sweet enchantment of Rivendell before I set out at last to find him. And to Sauron I went, for I knew at last from those I employed where he had gone. I returned to the Dark Lord, this time for more than the esoteric knowledge he had fashioned to his great profit. I paid a second price before I was sent on to this place, to this night in this little pub, and the making of words with the son of kings, to whom I had given my heart.

I found myself rubbing my left forearm, under my sleeve, which prickled slightly—feeling the raised skin where the mark like a wound had almost healed. I had accepted his mark, which made a part of me his. And I wondered. What mark did Aragorn accept, and what had it cost him? When in these months when we each went into the dark East did we somehow pass each other like ships in the darkest of night?

Then he was looking at my arm, and again at my face to search the details of my reverie.

"I also bear his mark," he said, placing his arm face up on the table between us. He watched my face, watching my eyes as he pulled up the thick and dirty sleeve, revealing the flesh that bore the raised and thickened, sharply outlined shape like the blackest of ink. It was a stylized mark, which appeared to be a flower, or an abstract design. But we saw in it the black hand, with a palm of red fire. which meant both eye and fire, _his_ sight and power. 

I noticed the marks on his wrists, similar to mine, remembering the restraints made from wide strips of leather with rings attached for rope or chain, and remembered the pain... the pleasures. 

I rolled up my sleeve to reveal my own mark, which was the same, but for one difference: the bright jewel above the tip of the first finger upon mine was a sapphire of deep blue, whereas his was a ruby of deep red.

He he moved his hand to trace the marks on my wrists, then waited to catch my eye before he looked down again, tracing his own marks, his mind drifting away as he pushed his sleeve back down, rubbing the mark through the fabric. His thoughts were elsewhere as he toyed with the empty glass he had kept from the bar keep's occasional nod. Now he relented, and settling back again, he began to pull regularly from it as he spoke, filling his pipe again when the glass sat empty at last. 

"How did you find me, Ellith?" 

"Those I employ gave word of your passage into Mordor. I went to him... to find you."

"He allowed you?"

"He welcomed my return. He spoke of you, but told me then that you had gone."

"That may have been true," he mused thoughtfully. "Or perhaps not. I would guess that he lied."

"I did not sense you there." I heard the disappointment in my voice, the reassessment of my time there.

"And so you stayed."

"I stayed, and he exacted the price. As he did with you." His eyes flashed subtly, though his body remained perfectly relaxed, his hands still as I continued. "He sent me to you. He always knows where you are."

"He waits for me," he said, then asked with a statement. "You are older than men, as he is, Ellith of the Maia." 

I nodded so slightly, remembering that One of my bright kindred, before he fell. 

"Did you know him then?"

"I knew of him, when he as Mairon, before he fell." I heard the change in my voice, the deeper voice of my dark journey. "As Sauron he sought me, and I went to him. I wanted his knowledge, but I have only ever sought you."

Then my hand was on his, and he let it remain there as we danced a long moment of understanding in each other's eyes, our hands dancing so very slightly together before I slid mine back onto the table, resting between us like a promise.

"Ellith."

"Aragorn."

"I remember you. I _remember_."

Relief filled my body, surging lightly as a perfect sweetness.

" _Ellith_... You patted my head."

I felt my eyes moist, brimming with a new happiness, remembering the fallen toy at his feet.

"I picked up your toy."

"I remember your eyes, so close to mine. You called me a _king_."

"I called you Aragorn, of the Dúnedain, King of Gondor."

"And you were kneeling, but then you were kneeling _to me_..."

"Do you remember my promise?"

"That you would return?"

"That I would return to you."

"And you love me still? You have wanted no other?"

"Only you. Though I was... I _knew_ him first." _And now I want you both._

He glanced down at my arm. I turned it over again, and he pulled again at his sleeve, placing his arm and his mark next to mine. 

He smiled, then laughed so gently. Our worlds came together. It would always be so. _Will you come to love me? As you love him?_

He touched the jewel of indigo on my arm, pressing lightly on it... on me, with affection. His face was somber again as he touched the ruby jewel on his own mark.

"What was your price, Ellith?"

"One part of a year."

"Three," he said as he sat back, his hands loose again on the table after he pulled down his sleeve.

_This is why you cannot return. You must satisfy this long debt, or return with a burden of years not your own._

I tilted my head slightly, wondering at his sacrifice, and he nodded, acknowledging the greater debt. He wanted to explain, but the words did not come.

"I have felt him near always," he said simply, as much to himself. "But only now do I know why." He shook his head. He was finished talking, and I still did not know. 

"You found him at last. What did you find, Aragorn?"

He was far away then. He was a boy. Then a lover. Then a traveler far from home. 

"I remember every day the sweet sound of mountain water rushing, the freshness on my face, the sweet sound as the sounding of my heart."

I watched the past become this moment on his face. He was thinking of home first, his lover after.

"I belong to him now. I will go back to him. I will pay the debt."

* * *

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	5. Five

  
Sauron art (from left): Dan Pilla on ArtStation. PeanutbutterJelle on Deviant Art, Insant on Deviant Art

_Aragorn speaks of Sauron_

I remember... I turned my horse at the overlook, standing there to memorize that last view of Rivendell in the early morning light. Such delight, a forest palace, a haven of the high Elves surpassed only by Lothlórien in beauty. It became real to me then; I was leaving. I hear now, in my voice, the strange pulse of my heart then, the straining of my feelings to turn away from the past, and open to my future. 

I looked back for a long while. How sweet is my destiny to have called Rivendell my home. I have been to many places, and I know her as a jewel of the every age, a place of heaven in our world. I have known for years that I would have to leave her, to become something more than Estel, ward of Elrond. I was leaving, but I did not know where I was going. What if I became a man with no home?

An answer: What can we do, but follow the little glimmer of the road ahead... when that is all we can see. I was going nowhere I had not been before. Or so I thought.

I hoped that I would encounter him in my world, for I did not consider entering his. I know now that we are two parts of a whole; his part the challenge from the ages past, mine the answer of our own. Why was I surprised then, when he found me so quickly, when I found him on the sunny path down from the High Pass, the lesser known route upon narrow ledges with room only for leading a horse. The path comes out into the gentle fold of the Misty Mountains called Glimrall Dale, some ways south of the High Pass Road. I had met no one in the pass, a sweet circumstance, and stopped there at the familiar little pool below a small divergence in the river to refresh my horse and fill my flask. 

I looked up. I heard a song, a pleasant humming. I led my horse down a little, and found him there, standing near the shallows. His boots and the braided lower parts of his long hair were wet, and I guessed that he had bent down to drink straight from the river.

 _Suddenly... I felt caught on my breath._ His raven hair seemed somehow a golden halo in the sunlight. He was tall, and thin, but with a strikingly muscular body. His clothes were those of another age, commanding attention, worn and magnificent still, with shimmers and patterns from the richest looms and fabrics, gold upon purple, with jade and rust accents in a myriad of symbols. His high boots were a dark jade, with swirling patterns of cutwork and overlays. He wore multiple rings of jewels and black onyx. There were jewels amongst his hair, and at his breast.

I had not pictured him thus! He was a prince, a king. His bearing was royal, his subtle movements were of a fluid confidence, his relaxed stance that of an unmatched power.

And his face. I don't know how, but I knew his face immediately, the visage of my lover, of my beloved, with fair skin of porcelain, eyes of dark gray, sensuous lips of ruby. How could I love him? Immediately, and so completely? I wanted to show him fealty, surround him with my constant attentions. It was a visceral reaction, and I saw in his eyes that he was pleased by my response, by the sudden change to my emotions playing on my face and in my stance.

His beauty. Do you not also find him beautiful beyond words? Perhaps he is different with each person. But where in this eternal one of the Maia _—_ who had served Morgoth, _Morgoth—_ was the destructive power, the commanding _evil_ of the imagined version I had made of him in my mind, trying to draw him out of the books, out of the air?

I have always known that we would meet, that we must meet, and engage in some way. This is my destiny. But I never imagined that he would be anything except utterly repellant to me. Never would I think of him as that jewel of manhood I would wear upon my body in passion.... The jewel of a king as a kiss upon my brow, the answered crown _,_ the moisture from his lips there upon me to mark me as his.

I wanted him. I would embrace his dark knowledge as I embraced him. I would know everything, and make it all my own as I _knew_ him with my body and my soul. How could I know that I am made to dance with peril, to touch the darkness embodied, to feel the stinging balm of uncontained opposition, and the desolation of directed unrestraint. Without this knowledge I will never be a king, fully endowed with the power to preserve and persevere.

All of this was in me, real in that moment, and he stood there still. The path to him lay between us, and he did not move, or reach.

"Aragorn, King of Gondor. Serve me," was all that he said.

I was free, my will untouched. And I loved him. I would serve him in love.

I knelt to him. I looked fully downward in trust, surrendering all knowledge of his actions, any for or against me. 

His boots appeared before my downward gaze, and I placed my forehead on the ground at his feet. I gave him my fealty as worship, but I was not his.

What would he pay to possess me? 

"I will accept three years, Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur, High King of Gondor and of Arnor."

His words were strangely muffled. I had become a vessel of black despair. My freedom was extinguished, my future lay desolate at his feet. I watched my fate unfold before me as a story, as a dream. He would make of me his immortal vassal, disembodied forever as a wraith. I would lead his armies, and crush his enemies, my kin. I felt my will destroyed, my former self extinguished, crashing at his feet as from a great height. I was dying as I struggled to raise my broken body, to deny my terror. I tried to speak, but I could not renounce my love for him, and live.

I had trusted him. I had trusted him _out of love._ A selfish love that would now curse all of my people in this age and the next, who would all call Sauron king, my great lineage vanquished and lost.

Then I was standing on the sunny bank of a river, the cool moisture of the water soaked air soothing to my burning eyes and tear streaked face. I felt my despair soaked and expelled, rising on the subtle air, carried away on the breeze like so much smoke. My will was not touched. My freedom was not threatened. I felt all hope rekindled in me, all as before.

He had revealed his power, that he could, but did not choose to vanquish me. _He could force me, but he would not._

"I will give to you one year, a great price." I heard myself say. "My life is not my own. There are those who await my return, as you well know."

He was silent. The birdsong was a vibrant counterpoint to the soft splunking sounds of the gently falling water.

"I rue that I must share you with your people," he complained. "Surely as a Númenórean, nurtured and educated in the house of Elrond, you are closer in stature to me than you are to lower men." He stared out across the water at the beauty of the sunlit trees on the opposite bank, then looked again at me. "One year is my price, princeling. Tell me, what is yours?"

I knew the words already. I found them in my heart.

"I require your love without limitation, your knowledge without limitation, with a perfect preservation of mine." He was visibly moved, confused that I so greatly valued his intimacy and love. His expression became one of recollection, seeking a distant memory of these things. "This is my price, Mairon of the Maiar. Sauron, Lord of Mordor. Once liege of Melkor, known as Morgoth Bauglir.

_The stirring of the breeze around us... the swirl of the sweet water at our feet. The mildness of morning sun on my face... the freely offered song of unseen birds._

"Will you wear my mark?" Sauron asked of me.

"I will."

"My mark is my signatory. Tell me, what is yours?"

I felt a sweetness of generosity, a compelling need to gather him to me with such fondness, like a brother.

"Will you wear this jewel, my namesake?" I touched the brooch at my breast lightly with my forefinger.

His stance and face softened again. He knew of my jewel, that I had taken its name. 

"I will."

"I give to you green Elessar, the Elf-Stone, my namesake, to wear always, and for one year only. And for its power of vantage—by which all that you view through it which is aged and withered will appear as youthful once more—I ask for this promise: that each day you will view through it the unspoiled nature of something which you have spoiled, or recall the primordial form of something which you have destroyed. Will you accept this boon?"

"I will."

His answer thrilled me. He would bear my namesake. Surely this was a token of more than his promise. It was a token of love. 

"This becomes my signatory: your possession of and adornment by that which is mine, my namesake." 

He was thoughtful then, and I waited for him to speak.

"This fair jewel Elessar I name also Evenstar, that from the appearance of the evening star at twilight, I shall remember each evening my promise to you."

"Be it so, I am agreed." I unclipped the brooch from my breast, and he allowed me to attach to to his, over his heart, my right hand covering and pressing the jewel against him. We remained eye to eye for a long moment before he looked down, and I withdrew my hand from his breast, which he caught gently with his right hand, placing it with my palm facing upward upon his left hand.

His eyes had found mine again as his hand tightened, as he moved my arm about in a subtle way that demonstrated his possession of it, which filled me with the heat of desire. I wanted his possession of my body, my desire becoming a passion as he gripped my hand more tightly, as he pushed my sleeve upward with the sweet and deliberate movements of a lover... As he leaned to kiss my forearm, lingering there with his lips, then licking there to wet my skin.

I looked down. His left hand was gripping my right wrist, my forearm facing up, his head over my arm with his dark hair falling around and upon it. His head moved so subtly as I felt his lips soft on my arm, and his tongue there as he moistened my skin.

His grip on my wrist tightened as he lifted his head, reaching with his right hand, placing it palm down upon my forearm moist from his kisses, pressing his palm tight against it. Immediately I felt a hot fire there that made me start with great pain, though I did not pull away.

I looked up, and was caught by his eyes... I saw a fire burning deep in his dark eyes, a fire that was then reflected as heat in my own eyes, filling my body with a rippling fire of deep pleasure that changed something essential in me, something that I could not name. And as this fire gradually receded, so did the burning fire in his grip upon my arm.

And still did he hold me. He did not let go, nor look away.

"Elessar," he breathed, his voice low and sweet. "I claim you now, sweet Elessar. My own, my own, Aragorn. You are mine at last."

* * *

NOTE: Aragorn's possession of the jewel Elessar, and its role as his namesake, appears much earlier in my story than it does in Tolkien's Middle-Earth chronology.

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	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ##### OMG this chapter took FOREVER. I had to revise it over and over. This story is challenging to write.
> 
> #####  Poor reader, still no real sex to speak of. I am getting there. These three just aren't jumping on each other. Yet.

_Aragorn continues_

He held me. He did not release me. He held my gaze, his hand still grasping my forearm, twisting there as he pushed me slowly downward, his grip tightening to the point of pain. His strength was incredible, and I could not resist him.

"Why do you force me? When I have given myself to you?" _I thought you might love me._

" _This is_ my love... the pain that will make me everything to you." He had forced me onto my knees, pushing me until my elbows were on the ground before him, until my face touched the wet earth at his feet. He grasped my hair, then lifted my head slightly, gently placing my lips upon the tops of his boots, communicating an intimacy with his feet held closely within. I let him hold me there, surrendering to his superior strength, and relaxed my body under his fierce hand, which became that of a rider gentling his horse.

"Worship me, Aragorn." His voice flowed around me, soaring away, carrying words that would travel on forever. "Kiss my feet. Kiss them." I heard in him the deep emotions of a long awaited, cherished desire made real at last. He loosened his grip upon my hair, then withdrew his hand slowly, only letting go when my lips remained there, pressed against his feet.

"You are so beautiful below me. Aragorn, fair Elessar... son of Kings. I am your Master. Call me Master." His voice was a chorus of gentle whispers made loud by a strange multiplication of sound and a subtle rush of air. The almost hoarse tone of arousal in his low voice filled me with an unknown level of heat and desire as he searched me, as I felt his inner hand on these awakening places in me, feeling them surging upward, surrendering to him, owned by him.

 _My lover_.... he called to me in my mind. _I will allow you to rule me with pleasure. You will conquer me with your body... ride upon my need... urge me to my release. Be my lover.... love and serve me._

 _I am not yet a king,_ I answered in my mind, for I felt him there still.

"I surround you... I enclose you with my will." I felt him everywhere against me. "You are below me in all things." I felt him over and above me.

"Worship me as your master and sovereign. Call me Master, and I will make and rule you as a king." His words were like caresses, his voice soothed and aroused me. I felt his touch inside, searching the places of my pleasure, feeling my body moved from within by this inner glow of warm sensation. I felt no feelings of worship, but I was saturated with feeling. A _place_ had found me, with a profound settling into the source of all comfort, a subtle sensation of letting go, an exquisite feeling of coming to rest; all the feelings of returning to home after a time of wandering, the sad years of endured exile. 

"Give in to your heart, Elessar. Call me Master, and know that you are mine."

I felt my imminent surrender, and _I remembered_. Why did I remember his words, everything that he said to me?

I felt no inner persuasion by magic or power. My will was still my own. I heard only the erotic tones of great arousal in his voice, a focused assault of erotic sounds and words, coursing against and through me as his great will and power of persuasion. The effect upon me was like the very air buffeting against me, a howling calamity contained as a little storm in a tea cup, closely held, curled within his hand like a strong rope between us, binding me to him, pulling me tighter, urging me to bend to his will.

Something changed in me. I gave in at last, and all sensation was extinguished.

Suddenly my face was no longer against the moist leather of his boots. No longer near the fragrant soil, the close by song of the water... the mild air of morning, the singing of the birds. I lay face down upon cold stone, in a place of utter silence. I sat up, opening my eyes to nothing, feeling nothing, only the cold stone beneath me. There was a staleness to the air, a lack of any flow, of the give and take of the world of the living. It was a place of incomprehensible stagnation, and I felt my soul jarred by it, my spirit stung by the enclosing bite of an underworld of blackest nothing... filled with nothingness.

I feared that I was dead, that he had extinguished my life, sending me down into the endless void. I was in an _other_ place, unlike any place that I had ever known in all of the living world.

It was strange to watch my mind from a little distance focus upon the fate of my horse, fearing for his safety. I felt relief as I pictured him waiting, then wisely turning towards home. What followed was an unbearable pain of concern for those I loved, who would find my horse there without me by evening, and I despaired, my heart aching. 

I reached to all that I knew, and brought my focus back to the surrounding darkness, and the struggle to contain my fear. I found in my mind the words of a song that reminded me of the beauty of Rivendell, of the delight of moments in the company of Elves, and of all things crafted by them.

I saw a light then, a rosy glow that grew, and became a little flame, then a fire that danced and grew larger, illuminating a huge, ornate fireplace hewn of black stone. There were elaborate designs upon the face of the fireplace, just visible in the bright glow of the fire that now fed an upward rush of air streaked with the popping sparks of tiny embers, the beauty of which lifted my spirits as a familiar memory of safety and warmth. I stood slowly, balancing myself more easily as the fire became so great as to light the huge room. I heard and felt the closeness of water as I turned slowly, taking in the wonder of elegant Elven furnishings of elaborately carved wood, richly woven fabrics and tapestries, and hanging lamps. There were large windows that opened onto an intimate forest glade with tiny slivers of moonlight shifting upon the ferns about a pool fed by a gently cascading stream. 

I felt myself enchanted by the familiar Elven surroundings, and all fear left me. I felt his close influence behind me, then his hand lightly resting upon my shoulder. I did not start, but felt instead a relief, a happy warmth of something familiar, then sweet feelings of tenderness as he pulled me against him, feeling our bodies touch and conform to each other for the first time. I closed my eyes, and traced with my mind the bright, loosely interwoven pattern of my life's travels, all culminating now in this moment of gentle collision.

He drew my hair aside, trailing his fingers lightly across the back of my neck, and I closed my eyes, moaning softly as he kissed me there, very softly, a touch of his lip's fullness that he pressed against me tenderly with great feeling.

"Welcome to my home," he spoke low at my ear. "I have made it beautiful, for you." 

I felt a subtle cold then. I stood in an empty room of stone illuminated throughout by a subtle blue that seemed only partially akin to light. A sensation of being underwater caused my breath to catch, an inability to take in the air that had been replaced with a subtle poison. My skin burned cold as my senses recoiled from a suffocating blanket of silent evil pushing in upon me from all directions, a force of contraction and death. I felt that I was dying, that my life force was being drained from me. There was no beginning or surge of fear in me, only an immediate state of uncontainable dread and blackest fear.

I could not breathe. I was suffocating.

I curled inward upon my innermost self, hiding the light of my spirit. I was perfectly still, like prey that sensed a close predator in the darkness, instinctually fearing the notice of a ravenous evil that would immediately consume and extinguish me, snuffing out that light and destroying me utterly. 

I was shivering in the cold room. It was completely dark. I was terrified. And I was suffocating.

"Aragorn," his voice was near, dark and cruel. But I could not see him. Some little unadorned lights appeared, floating nearby. He was standing in front of me, holding a whip, with black pants and no shirt. The whip shocked me. I had never felt a whip. Why was I shocked? I had come to him, _to Sauron_. 

But I was suffocating. I tried again and again to breathe, but I could not. The air was like ether, vaporous and thick. He stood without moving, waiting. I realized he was waiting for me to breathe. I tried again, and once more. Finally I was forced by utter desperation, sucking the horrible substance deep into my lungs. I was overcome with a strange floating sensation that made me feel that I was dying.

I could not feel my body. Then I saw myself from the outside, standing bound and unclothed with my hands over my head, and he was whipping me, walking around me, finding each place to awaken with the sting of the little whip with a short handle and two braided tails. There was the sound it made on my skin. And I was begging, crying, calling out, sometimes sighing with pleasure. The room had become very warm, and Sauron was sweating, silent, expertly tasting me with the whip as if it were his tongue, finding the places I loved, the places that were challenging, the places that were causing me to call out, to come undone.

It was all dark again, and I could hear his breathing near to me, that of arousal and pleasure as he whispered my name.

Then all was sweet again as the luxurious room of natural elegance and living water returned, and I could breathe once more. My clothes were as they were, and the nearby fire was reassuring. I welcomed the world of beauty that he had conjured for me. But he had also shown me his world, a brief glimpse of how he lived, the air he breathed. We were not of the same world, nor of the same species. He had become something singular, something evil.

And he had shown to me a glimpse of something unknown to me, that a whip for him was a sexual tool—and that I might find its touch pleasurable.

"Welcome to my home. I have made it beautiful, for you." 

It had all happened in my mind, over in a few seconds. The dark room, the vaporous air. Seeing myself from the outside, moaning with pleasure as he whipped me. His low voice in the returning darkness as he whispered my name.

I turned to face him behind me, adorned now in rich robes of deep and scintillating red, his eyes and face so close to mine were sharply outlined by the bright and dancing firelight. 

I was startled by the star of Elessar pinned at his breast, and remembered that I had given it to him to wear, signifying my promise to him.

I made my promise to him not so long ago. Was it not so long ago that I left home, alone at last, to find myself? But I had given myself to another instead. There had been no other travels, no other skills or adventures pursued. 

He held my eyes with his own as he raised his hand to touch my forehead. _Remember....._ I heard his voice ringing outward through my mind like a bell.

Outward from the beginning... when had it started? As a young boy when I had idly imagined serving Sauron, one so evil. I had considered it an idle thought, nothing more. But I had now and again imagined him completely transforming me, changing me from a man into something much greater. None of the other fantastical adventures I conceived of quite compared to this imagined transformation. But the cost. It was much too high. Still, I had teased at the puzzle, wondering why I found it so captivating.

It was thrilling to think of it. There would be only his will for me, something whole and complete, a singularity which would rule me as a singularity, without exception. There would be no thoughts of hiding, of resistance, no questioning or reluctance. No inner economy of give and take, trouble and triumph. There would be no inner fight, no endless struggles against my base nature, no trials to rework me as one who was noble and good.

 _What if it was possible? To know Sauron, and remain uncorrupted and free? To answer the desire to serve him without dire consequence, without losing everything?_

Perhaps there was... There came at last that moment, when I feared him greatly, but wanted him more. Then had I truly sought an answer: how to have what I desired and still return as myself, to live the rest of the life I now lived. I teased at the greatest of all puzzles, a mighty question: _HOW TO KNOW THE DESTROYER, WITHOUT KNOWING DESTRUCTION, WITHOUT BEING DESTROYED._

To fly at the flame of extinction, and survive! I wanted to be changed by magic, to know the enchantment of being rendered, of being remade by the destruction of all but one remainder, a possession, forged into something so pure, so fully possessed.

I summoned him with my desire, though I knew it not. He was very subtle. He placed a reasonable solution where I would find it in myself. Then offered himself as the one confident who understood my desires.

_Will you barter with me? We each will give, and we each will take._

_He offered it to me. A bartered measure of my freedom. A certain length of time, with the assurance I would be returned to my former life. A way to know, and then return from evil. A king who had known and conquered these places, and had known every kind of love. Everything._

He instructed me. He beguiled me. It was beautiful, and it was terrible. Now I was remembering it all. I had been journeying to him in my mind for a very long time. Now I had made the bargain, and would pay the price.

"Give in to your heart, Elessar. Call me Master, and know that you are mine." He said these words, and I knew that he was aware of my thoughts. _"Hear me, Elessar. Make these words your own. Say to me: 'I know this.'"_

 _I know this_.... I thought to myself, accepting the truth. I had collided with an inner place of hard truth that would not give way, that could not be rearranged. My world was shaken apart from within. A greater part of my consciousness fell away. All was revealed.

"I know this," I tried the words aloud. "I call you Master, Lord Sauron. I come to worship at your feet."

His head tilted so slightly, his body shifting so slightly from his feelings of great pleasure at my words.

Two parts of my mind had come together. The part that both loved and feared him, and the part that had already accepted his yoke.

I was unaware that I was speaking aloud, thinking and saying these things to him now. "This is how evil spreads. This.... But why do I know so much about this? How did I come to know so much...!? These tears are useless now. Useless..." I needed to condemn something outside of myself; something that I found living inside of me.

"This. This is why evil is so seductive. It finds a hidden desire that can be answered at last." The desire that once drove his Master to total destruction. The desires that had become in him a lover of order—and a lover of the power that would make him the only source of that order, in all things.

A hidden desire. He had found my desire. 

My voice inside was one of accusation. _How is this your world? How can you know and embrace the void, and yet live? How can you want my love, when I fear you as the very form of all evil, of extinction and death? You are terrible, so terrible..._

He stood still before me, absorbing my words with no change to his stance, no emotion upon his face. But his eyes. I found suffering there, married to triumph.

"My love is wed to cruelty," he said without emphasis or emotion. "I want you, and _I can have you_ without destroying you. But I must make you suffer. That is the true price, the price for my love." His voice was one of careful instruction. "You will serve the source of my pleasure as I reach into your body with a precision of pain, as I reach into your mind with a precision of cruelty. Only then will we be intimate, when you are aware of me, and me only; when all else is extinguished, pushed from your mind by me as your pleasure, and me as your pain. _You know this_."

I knew these things. None of this was unknown to me. I remembered it all. He had already taught me much. I had learned some things with, and some things without words. _I remembered these things._

Now I stood with him, in his black tower, in the dark land of Mordor. And I understood it all. All of this truth. A terrible truth.

He had answered my desire.

I had already chosen.

It was done before we met. 

I had bartered with Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor. 

* * *

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	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #### I believe this chapter is finished, except for editing and polishing.

"Aragorn," I said again. He had been sitting silent for some time, the shades of memory playing on his face and in his eyes, subtle in his breath.

He came back to the present, pushing the remains of his food aside, leaning back and stretching in his chair. His eyes were clear, and his face had relaxed into a subtle smile. He looked around at the little world of happy people that sang and laughed, and he was glad. "Not everyone is blessed with a simple life," he said, catching the barkeep's eye, offering the nod of settling up as he stood, and reached to help me up, giving me his hand with a smile.

He placed his coin on the bar, enough to cover my meal as well.

"Thank you," I said as we stepped outside. The air was crisp, and smelled of a delicious blend of creosote and wood smoke, hay and other not so delicious stable smells. Aragorn had looked about cautiously, then joined me in gazing up at the stars, gauging the hour. 

"I have a room," he said, glancing towards the archway that led to the back of the pub, a second entrance to the lodgings away from the eyes of those inside. "The keep takes good care of me here. Stable your horse, and join me at a warm and cozy fire. I want to hear your tale, Ellith, and speak more on these things."

"I agree," I said happily. I was reassuring my horse as he tapped on the stable proprietor's door with a certain rhythm. Immediately we were joined by a stable hand, who nodded to Aragorn before leading my horse off. "Best hay and a rest from your tack," he promised over his shoulder. "Sure and secure." Then he was gone. Aragorn casually looked about with a satisfied look, and we made our way around to the back door and up the stairs.

The room had a fireplace prepared with a lovely fire of radiant coals, and wood stacked to the ready. The glow of the fire danced about the room as we stashed our gear and hung up our outer clothing, slipping out of our boots and socks, which were placed near the fire where we both stood, sighing and wiggling our toes.

He was boyish and generous as we laughed and arranged our chairs next to the fire where he placed two split logs against the grate for us to place our feet on. There was more sighing, and a long pause as we settled into our chairs and ourselves, each of us in our own thoughts.

I thought of what I might say, which part to start with, and where to go with it all, parsing the layers and years of living colored with fate and chance, love and loss, darkness and light, **and a test made in the darkness at the center of it all.**

He had pulled out his pipe and was idly smoking, and I felt the moment when his thoughts came back to the room. There was no way to speak of it all in one story, so I chose where to begin, and leaned forwards to watch and poke at the fire, lost in the depths of glowing heat as I fell back into another time and place in my mind, and the feelings of my heart. 

_Ellith speaks_

I have seen the cost of evil.

I have yet to measure the full cost of truths distorted, the days of happiness stolen. The progress of races stunted, the many generations extinguished and knowledge lost, previously defended at great cost.

I think upon the mortals who knew hastened death, sad telling. I have looked upon bodies bright with immortal blood, felled by an unnatural death, their tragedies not always of any real or great effect.

Valiant they were, and praiseworthy. Honor is their due, with sad memory their grim inheritance. What then of the endless loss and heartache of those left to mourn their sacrifice? 

How then could I allow the desires that I found in my heart? How could I know such evil thoughts after all that I had seen and heard in all the lands and years of the ages of Middle-Earth?

I can say it simply, and quick only. There is no apology which will fit my simple confession.

I was fascinated by him, _Sauron_. When he fell. When he returned.

I was bewildered by these feelings. Were these feelings about him, or about me? Were my desires about that which he would do to me, or that which I would become?

He returned after the fall of Margoth.

I thought of him. Sauron. _The Dark Lord._

I wanted to go to him, kneel to him, surrender to him.

I longed to give him my will.

There was a place for him in my heart... _in my heart._ I found that place—as it found me—whenever I followed these secret thoughts of him into that dark place of longing.

_Longing is the word that I give to these feelings. To speak of him is to speak of longing._

I longed to know him, to give myself to him, to be possessed by him. 

I longed to give him my will.

Why did these thoughts entice me so? Why did these thoughts bring me such pleasure?

Evil. Evil destroys all boundaries. It levels everything, without exception. 

_I wanted to be changed completely. I wanted to be destroyed, and fully remade... as a part of him._

I pictured this endlessly, in many ways happening to me. What would it be like, to follow my desires? To go to him? To become his?

This is what I told myself: _This is only a fantasy... meant only to explore my guilty feelings... an idle form of entertainment._

I will tell you what I pictured. I will confess it to you now.

_I am there. He is here. This is what I see._

I approach him, and lay my will at his feet. Sauron. I say his name. He says mine.

He reaches to me, and accepts my surrender, claiming my will for his own.

His power over me is immediate and complete.

I am joined in his great pleasure as he possesses me.

I am changed completely, transformed into something new, entirely shaped by his will.

I am no longer separate from him. There is no part of me that he does not know and remake at his pleasure.

I am thrilled by the intimacy of complete possession, one without boundary or cessation.

I become a part of him, an extension of his hand, a conduit of his will and power.

_All of this becomes pure pleasure in me._

I desire this intimacy, that no part of me will be held back.

I crave this possession, that every part of me is a part of him.

I seek his knowledge of me... every part without exception.

I become something terrible, and obey him in every way, forever.

How is it that I had never thought of a terrible possibility... _but I was not surprised when he appeared inside of me?_

Sauron had come to me. Somehow he he found these feelings in me.

He offered a _subtle_ way to communicate with me, as if to satisfy my curiosity about him, nothing more.

This subtle manifestation of my fascination with him was very gradual, so gentle, always pleasant.

Then.

I began to feel the need for an excursion, an adventure. Where would I go?

I eventually noticed that he encouraged these plans, and I thought it kind of him.

Then.

The day came when he called to me, and I went. I did not know that I was going to him.

I had the intention and gathered the supplies for the journey to the forest and Elven abode of Lothlorien, the most beautiful of all places in Middle-Earth. How then did I pass so close, travelling on from the forest abode of my handfasted friends, those two of the Eldar, the high Elves and their kin, and their tree-top home through all three ages of high song and beauty? How did I trade all of this for the path to the blackest realm of evil and harm?

I felt all that was restless in me comforted and peaceful as I stood with my horse on a grassy hill of vantage, close to and overlooking the near beginnings of the great forest of Lothlorien before me. The trees were suddenly tipped with the bright orange of the setting sun from behind me, painting their sharp outlines against the very distant northern mountains beyond, now purple and hazy under the darkening azure of twilight. I coaxed my horse about to face the setting sun, just gone now behind the rolling grasslands below, the lands between the mighty River Anduin far away and down to my left, and the rolling ascent to the brightly tinged peaks of snow atop the Misty Mountains, climbing far and away to my right. 

I stood so for some time. I was listening. The sounds of the forest behind me were carried to me on the still coolness of the evening air, and I was beguiled by the almost silent _shush_ of the trees, their whispers akin to the tongue of the Silvan Elves—their keepers and congress in all the days and ages of Middle-Earth.

At last I turned my horse back to face the forest, there felt my spirit touch and partake of the sweetness of these currents of living history before me. I knew this forest, as it knew me, as the inhabitants knew me from the beginning of the tales of Elves, remembering me as one of the Maiar who proceeded the Elves in the tales of Middle-Earth.

Now I had come once more to the edge of this beloved and blessed realm, the most beautiful forest of Lothlorien, but I stood only, and did not go in. I thought that I would enter in a moment. Moment after moment went by. 

The sun was almost gone and the twilight was opening to the stars, and I was listening for that most sweet of sounds, the sounds of Elven voices, their Elven song embracing the magic of the oncoming of night. The sounds began, finding me as an island in that current of sweetness. For the trees knew of my yearning for these sounds, and graciously passed them outward to me as I listened just beyond the Elven realm of leaves and silvery light.

At last the sounds trailed away. At last it was dark, but for an occasional glimmer of Elven light through the slightly swaying trees. No one came out to greet me, and I did not go in. It was so. I did not mean to.

I did not travel to Lothlorien. I did not enter. I could not. I held something in my heart; a shadowy errand, a dark intention, a forbidden desire.

I made camp. I awakened to the Elven song of morning lovingly passed on to me by the near trees of beautiful Lothlorien. I turned from the forest, and road away. When next I came this way, I would be forever different, touched by knowledge of The Dark One.

I rode on.

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